What Are You Worth?
by kati-kun
Summary: Harry is a submissive with no prospects, an abusive father and a dead mother. However, when he is summoned to the palace of the Alpha Werewolf he will meet someone there that will change his life forever.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Harry dutifully crept into the dining room of the Potter household, cradling his burden of rare roast lamb with great care. He kept his head down and his eyes averted from all others'. He prayed that he would go unnoticed this evening and would not make a fool of himself or his pack; he could feel his father's gaze burning his fair skin as he gently and deliberately laid the heavy dish upon the lace tablecloth. He made no noise as he made his way to his own seat and curled his small hands in his lap.

His stomach was burning fiercely, but it was not from the intense hunger that he felt. He'd felt that his entire life. It was from the clinical beating he had received from his father, James, earlier that day.

Harry heard the guest that his father had invited for dinner that night help himself to some food; next in the pecking order was his father, as the host and head of household. Soon Harry's older brothers, Paul, Caspian and Richard, all served themselves also and then it was Harry's turn. He took little food from the dishes of potatoes, vegetables, and meat laid out in front of them despite the ever-constant hunger in his belly. His father would have beaten him if he had taken any more, and it was expected of submissives to be small and willowy, and never to be seen being greedy.

Harry's mother, James' mate, had died giving birth to Harry and, Harry felt, his father had never forgiven him. Not only was he a submissive -- a useless burden! -- but he had killed his father's mate, his life-long partner as appointed by the Wolf Mother herself. What boy had the right to deprive a wolf of his mate? Not Harry -- and so Harry was punished. He was starved, he was beaten, he was worked like a slave and all of the werewolves, even his own brothers, were forbidden from befriending him. He had hazy memories of a small, dark cupboard, and rope, and terrible screaming. He always hoped that that screaming had not come from his own mouth; it sounded inhuman inside his head. Harry did not take pride in much, but he was proud of the fact that he never screamed (at least, not anymore). He tried desperately to prove to his father that he was not as pathetic as James thought he was.

To add to all his faults was this: he was, apparently, empty-headed and a simpleton. He hardly spoke a word, and when he managed to it was in speech diseased with juddering pauses and hiccups. He had nothing useful to contribute to any conversation and no original thoughts of his own. According to his father. Harry tried, he honestly did, but... he just couldn't. He was scared.

Harry pushed his meal around his plate mostly, but did venture a few mouthfuls before feeling extremely sick. He quietly placed his cutlery across his plate neatly and then resumed his study of the tablecloth. He hoped desperately that his father would not punish him again tonight; he did not think his body could handle it right now.

Caspian thought, 'He makes being weak and down-trodden an art-form in itself!' Caspian was eternally angry at his brother because Harry was sad and ghost-like in his presence. It made him angry that his brother was so weak, but deep down he was just angry at himself that Harry was the way that he was. And here they were again, his father trying to charm his "guest" into taking his little submissive brother away to work for this greasy werewolf that was sitting at their dinner table, leering at his tired little brother with dull, yellow eyes. And here, again, Caspian knew that he would do nothing, say nothing, as his father hurt his little brother.

Nobody wanted a submissive to work for them; what could a submissive do that a strong dominant couldn't do better? The only employment that submissives were suitable for was as sexual partners.

Caspian felt his fists clench as he watched his baby brother, his blood, his pack member that was so abused, perch upon his chair as if he wasn't even worthy of sitting down on furniture. He imagined his father's guest undressing his little brother, and in his mind Harry did not fight back or protest as he knew that in real life he would not. Only his viridian green eyes would betray his panic and disgust as his legs were spread apart and the man fucked him, grunting and huffing like an animal.

Caspian clenched his eyes closed in horror: this was his tiny, innocent baby brother's fate. When dominants looked at him this was what they desired to do to him: to abuse his soft body, to bite and mark his flawless flesh, to fuck him brutally and watch his pretty face contort in agony. Caspian was not oblivious; he heard them talking at school, the hormone-crazed dominants fantasising aloud about his brother, his sweet little brother.

Okay, so he was angry at Harry, but only because he loved him so much and yet, he was going nowhere. He had no prospects, not in this society, not with this father that hated him as he hated death.

What was even the point of Harry's existence? Was it to make Caspian feel guilty? Why was the raven-haired boy even alive?

Caspian remembered a time before; a time when their mother had been alive and warm, Caspian noted sadly that Harry looked more like their mother than all of them, and when their father had been a kind and benevolent figure in their lives, a man in love, a passionate man. He remained passionate even now; he tortured his youngest son with as much passion as he had made love to his mate with.

They finished their meal with the guest deciding that James' son, whilst attractive, was too sombre and morose for his liking. Harry hadn't looked up once during the whole meal, but Caspian knew it was just to avoid attention. He glanced at his father warily as he escorted the guest to the door. He looked very, very angry, and Caspian knew that it was Harry that would pay.

The powerful werewolf prowled through the entrance hall of their elegant home back to the table that none of them had been excused from. He trod the rich, dark floors with rage in his footsteps, through the pale arches of the doorway, and soon loomed like a storm cloud above the oblivious submissive.

Harry was tired, so very tired, and he still felt ill. He couldn't wait to just curl up in his nest of blankets in the cupboard under the stairs and drift off to sleep. Suddenly his attention was brought back to the present situation by the startling silence. It was so quiet that Harry felt it more obtrusive than a bustling funfair (something that he had never visited himself, but had observed from the isolation of the manor windows). He gulped, trying to shift the sudden painful lump in his throat that formed when he realised that his father... sounded very upset. Harry could hear his violent breathing that betrayed his elevated stress levels, and without looking Harry could tell from the warmth bathing his left side that his father was standing very close to him.

"You…" James growled. His fist came crashing into the side of Harry's head and he fell from his chair. He lay motionless, sprawled on the floor, not daring to move. Harry was certain that he heard someone gasp but he couldn't tell who, and he wondered why they had. Harry daren't let even his pinkie toe twitch, and he felt his leg beginning to tremble from the tension in his muscles.

"What're you good for? I can't even seem to get rid of you-"

The thickness of the air dissipated and Harry jumped violently when there came a sudden crashing at the door. His father snarled, then sighed and left the room to answer the door. Harry shakily stood on his own. He pulled and tugged at the skin on the back of his hand nervously, not making eye contact with anyone in the room, not acknowledging his watering eyes.

There came a deep voice from the entrance hall and the owner of the voice soon emerged into the dining room with his father. Harry peeked from under his dark bangs at the new arrival and saw a tall man in the Alpha's Guard's uniform. The Alpha was in charge of everyone in Europe, the continent of werewolves. All the humans had left the continent when the population of werewolves began to outnumber them. Eventually all the world's leaders simply sent any werewolves of their country to Europe where they would be out of the way and looked after by their own people. There was little contact between the two races nowadays.

The man spoke, "I am the Alpha's messenger. I apologise for the lateness of my visit. I am here to inform you that our Alpha has now reached the mature age of thirty-three and all unmated submissives are to make their way to the palace where the Alpha's mate shall be found. Also, mates shall be found for the submissives that are destined for anyone else that is residing in the palace at this moment in time during the Mating Ceremony. This means that the Mating Ceremony that was due to take place in November this year shall not take place. You have three weeks to arrive. You shall have accommodation provided for you in the palace if you arrive before your three weeks are up. If, after the Ceremony, you are still unmated you may return home. If, however, you have found your mate, then it is up to you to decide where to go; you must discuss this matter with both your mate and your pack, but the Alpha will no longer provide accommodation for you. Thank you, and have a safe journey."

The messenger left and there was silence in the room. Then James turned to his youngest son. "I pity any man or woman that has to endure you. You will leave tomorrow with your brothers accompanying you. Pack tonight. I hope I never have to see you again." James swept from the room.

Harry remained frozen where he stood. His whole life was going to change very, very soon. Or perhaps it would not. Perhaps his mate would not be at the palace. Perhaps he would have to come home again, back to this, back to a family that did not want him.

"Paul... W-w-what... did the-the man m-mean…" Harry paused for a long time and breathed in concentration, but no one spoke because they knew that he was not finished and it had been such a very long time since they had heard their brother's voice. "...by 'mature a-a-age... of thirty-three?'"

Paul was momentarily mesmerised by the caramel-softness of his youngest brother's voice, but soon rushed to answer his question when Harry glanced up and he caught a glimpse of his mother's bright eyes. "Well, werewolves are immortal, as you know, and there comes a point when we stop physically maturing or ageing. It is different for different people, but generally a dominant werewolf stops ageing at thirty-five and a submissive werewolf at twenty-five. When a werewolf stops ageing then you say that they are "mature". Usually a werewolf will simply wait for their mate to come along as the Wolf Mother decides, but for the Alpha, to be fully matured and still without one's mate is unacceptable." He said in a softer voice so that if James was listening then he would not hear this, "You may not feel like it, Harry, but a dominant werewolf can be made a lot stronger by their mate, submissive though they may be. A lot of people judge a mated pair not as individuals but as a single entity. By being unmated, some people may see this as a weakness in the Alpha and may challenge him."

Harry was wide-eyed and rapt. When Paul said no more, Harry nodded and gave a rare, albeit unsure, smile, and went to his cupboard to pack his meagre belongings and then sleep.

The three remaining brothers glanced at one another when Harry left. Paul and Richard were shocked to see Caspian crying silently. "Caspian?" Richard gasped.

"He... He's just so small…" Caspian breathed, "And now... we're just giving him away. Like a possession. Why are we so weak? Why can we not protect him? I love him, you know. I wish he knew that." The other two brothers understood and looked away. It was best not to embarrass Caspian by witnessing his tears.

end chapter


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Harry's dusty satchel did not contain many things. It was old and needed replacing. He clutched it to his chest whilst his father whispered to his brothers in the main doorway.

Harry remember fondly how kind Paul had been the previous night; he had not reprimanded him for asking foolish questions, even though he probably should have. Harry wondered if maybe his brothers did not hate him quite as much as his father did. Harry watched Paul's eyes now, dark and hollow with worry as their father spoke to him in low tones.

Harry wondered if perhaps he was to die on this trip. Was his father telling his brothers to eliminate him at this very moment? Harry hoped that if his father's wishes would lead to his death, that then his brothers would defy him. As soon as he thought this he bit his lip in regret; it was selfish to wish for his own safety when it would undoubtedly lead to someone else's pain. For James would punish anyone that did not obey him.

Harry hoped that with this journey, his situation would change. He hoped that he would meet new people, new paths, and a better future. Perhaps he could escape his father and his past with this journey. He had a very good feeling.

His feelings were reinforced as they ventured out into the world, and traversed the dusty path of the forest that surrounded the manor. Harry could feel the great, heavy weight of the manor's shadow becoming lighter and lighter the farther they walked.

It was a crisp and fresh Spring morning and the air was pleasantly wet. Diamonds of dew hung from every leaf and sunlight broke through the silvery foliage of the ash and rowan trees in far-reaching arms. The soft curly fronds of the new ferns brushed Harry's legs and left wet kisses that tingled in the cold air as he floated by. The laughing lambs were noisy in their green fields, exploring a surprising world on weak and fragile legs that would one day grow strong and agile. Until then, they would make their mistakes.

Harry was delighted with this new freedom; he had seldom been allowed to leave the manor for anything except school and orchestra rehearsals. Harry played the guitar, and though he had never really excelled at it, he enjoyed playing.

His heart felt light despite the uncertain circumstances. He told himself to be wary but could not bring himself to suspect his brothers' behaviour. They were quiet and uneasy in the flat Spring sunshine.

By the time the sun was setting, Harry was exhausted. They were camped in a small clearing in the dark depths of the forest. Harry listened to the strangely relaxing cries of the forest wildlife in silence.

As soon as they had stopped, Harry had begun to hastily set up their tent in case of rain -- werewolves did not pay much mind to the cold as their internal body temperature was considerably higher than humans. This was one of the major factors that had lead human scientists to believe that the werewolf gene was a virus that needed to be controlled. By extermination. The following war had been short-lived and pointless, and now the each race steadily ignored the other.

Harry had been surprised and a little upset when Caspian had insisted that Harry rest, and had proceeded to finish setting up camp himself; honestly, he knew that he was a burden to them, and there wasn't much that he could offer. The least that he could do for his brothers was look after their earthly needs. It was times like these that Harry wished desperately that speech came as fluidly to him as it did to others. If only he could express his feelings! If only he wasn't so scared all the time... Why couldn't he be stronger? More useful? It was bad enough that, as a submissive, no great things were expected of him without he, himself, proving that the oppressive views of a submissive's worth to be completely justified!

He watched how his brothers worked together, as a well-oiled machine. Each doing a job, uncomplaining and efficient. Why was he excluded from that? Because he was useless!

He could feel a morose mood coming on; he turned his thoughts to other things before he could get too upset. It was hard not to be introverted though when no one would communicate with him!

Harry had really enjoyed travelling through the countryside; it was a beautiful area and the glory of spring-time had been all around him. His brothers' moods were disconcerting however, and as they had moved further into the thickening woods, Harry had felt his elation subside slightly with the lack of sunlight.

They were settling down for the night. Harry would share the tent with all of his brothers, snuggled up together in the sparse blankets and tiny floor space. Harry had to admit to himself, he was looking forward to the intimacy; he could not remember the last time someone had touched him in kindness.

"Harry?" The seventeen-year-old jerked at Richard's rough voice and caught his gaze shyly. "We're going to bed now." He held open the sludge-green tent flap for his younger brother. Harry nodded once and slipped inside. He hunkered down uncertainly in the corner of the tent and waited for everyone to settle down in their own time.

Harry could tell by the soft groan of Paul as he flexed his shoulders that his bag must be very heavy. Harry thought of his small and light satchel guiltily and resolved to help carry some of Paul's load tomorrow.

The three bulky dominants settled on the lumpy ground, huddled together companionably. Harry hesitated, but Caspian soon murmured, "Harry, c'mere little one." Harry's eyes widened at the unfamiliar nickname and a truly joyful smile lit his features that his brothers would have been astounded to see if they had not been turned away.

Harry hastily slithered his way over to the second oldest sibling of the Potter pack and slotted himself in front of him with Richard's wide back before him. Harry's body was tense, feeling a nuisance at taking up more space. Honestly, his brothers didn't even like him--

Harry's train of thought was cut off as Caspian slung a bulky arm over his hip and pulled him back against his front. Harry said nothing but was silently joyous. He curled up a little more comfortably and closed his eyes. The intimacy he had been so looking forward to was even better than he had imagined it would be.

No one spoke for an indiscernible amount of time. Caspian was trying to work up the courage to speak. He could feel Harry's bones through his skin and it upset him more than he had ever thought possible.

'Come on! Your father isn't here right now; he'll never know! He's not going to hurt you, and this may be one of the last times that you will ever see your baby brother. After the Mating Ceremony, he'll be... gone. At least, it will be better if he is. He is in danger at the Potter Manor. If he is not mated after the Ceremony, I will take him away with me. We will run away.' The image of a murderous James flashed before his hazel eyes briefly, before being blown away by Harry's soft sigh of contentment as he subtly wriggled back more into Caspian's hold.

Caspian felt the wetness in his eyes sting sharply as more liquid gathered. He was horrified at himself and hoped that nobody would notice, but his little brother's innocent and desperate action spurred him to speak as he felt a warm rush of affection for him.

The words he had always wanted to say: "I love you, Harry."

His other brothers were asleep apparently, as they said nothing and did not stir. He felt Harry tense once more. Harry turned around in his grasp slowly, as if trying not to disturb anyone. As if afraid, if he moved too sharply, Caspian would awake from his dream and throw the small body from him in disgust and take back his lovely words.

Harry's shocking green gaze held Caspian's properly for perhaps the first time in either of their lives in disbelief, not even daring to hope.

Caspian repeated himself firmly, "I love you, Harry. You are wonderful."

Suddenly his little brother's eyes filled with a tentative trust and a soaring joy. He put a small hand on his brother's firm chest carefully, unused to the action. He stared at his own hand for a full minute in wonder, then caught his most emotional brother's eyes in a confident stare.

"I love you, Caspian." His voice did not waver. He smiled widely, flashing his sharp, white teeth unashamedly, before tucking his head under Caspian's bristly chin and settling down to sleep. Though he wasn't sure he could now. He had never been so happy in his whole existence.

Caspian was pleasantly shocked at his usually so fraught and wary brother's confident actions. Harry was always questioning himself, unsure what behaviour was acceptable or welcome and what would result in punishment. And here he was, cuddling his older brother that had let him down so many times before, and expecting to be cuddled back. Harry expected no kindness from anyone. And yet here they were.

Caspian had never been so proud of his brother.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Harry awoke with his head buried in Caspian's wild, russet mane. A pleasantly masculine scent filled his nose. He could tell even in his lethargy that his brother still slept. The deafening snores were a bit of a give-away, Harry thought cheekily and with an impish smile on his lips.

He extracted himself from the tickly mop without really wanting to, but knowing that he should get up and ready some breakfast for them all before they set off once more. His brother grunted at the loss of heat and proceeded to flop onto his back lazily and snore louder still.

Harry glanced sleepily at his other siblings; they were still resting and seemed impervious to the snores. Harry knew he had always been a light sleeper, mostly due to the crippling nightmares that kept him always on the brink of waking, but he could not understand how they could sleep through that racket! Harry was disappointed that the dreams had continued to haunt him even last night when he had fallen asleep the happiest he could ever remember being.

He gazed fondly at the mass of muscle and sweat that was Caspian. Caspian loved him. Harry grinned, on a complete high. His brother loved him!

He pulled on some warmer clothes than what he had worn to bed the previous night and pulled back his unruly hair in a piece of leather. He mused as he worked that it was getting a bit long and resolved to ask Richard to trim it for him, or just cut it all off if that made it less of a hassle. Richard had always cut his hair for him.

He went to gather water from a beautiful stream nearby. He stopped for quite a time gazing at it in wonder and confusion. The grey water chuckled over the rocks like a ribbon of liquid silver.

Harry found it fascinating that the stream was so whole and complete, never-ending, and yet he knew that if he dipped his hand into the cool course, a little pool of the sparkling potion would come away with ease from the rest of the whole.

He wondered how it was done, what the river _was_ exactly. It did not seem natural at all that you could not point out the different parts of it; like a leaf on a tree and its trunk and its roots.

It was whole, and then it was not, so easily manipulated by the enemies it encountered: here, a rock approaches, and now, a lone spear of water slips through the air, and now, it is falling and merging back into the current with ease, no longer a spear, sliding apart, identity lost.

'But,' Harry thought with a start, 'it is the water that has beaten the rock! The rock, so strong and solid, has been outsmarted by the slippery water! The jealous rock would wish to stand obstinately and attempt to halt the flow of the clear water and steal its freedom. But look! The water has found another way and the rock hunkers low in the liquid, hiding in shame that it was so easily defeated by another so insubstantial. And the water still laughs along, unconcerned by the cruelty of the rock, forgiving it unconditionally with pity in its swirls and eddies.'

Harry's brow was crinkled in thought, but when he emerged from his reverie he smoothed the skin in haste, remembering that his father had warned him that expression would give him wrinkles.

He crouched gracefully to retrieve the water. He dipped their drinking bottles into the stream reverently, muttering an apology as they filled with the pure substance. He stared sadly at the full and capped bottles; the water seemed to lose its hypnotic magic when still and held prisoner.

Harry brushed aside his distracting thoughts and, carefully balancing the pot of water he had filled for bathing, moved lightly back to the camp.

As he emerged from the formidable wall of evergreens he noted that no-one else had yet risen. His head tilted back to take in the narrow slit of sky visible through the canopy. He estimated that it was perhaps five or six in the morning; he wasn't sure though. Paul would know better as he was an eager hunter.

Harry had never been permitted to leave the manor during the lunar change, but his brothers went hunting in the forest frequently over the three-day period when they were all stuck as wolves. Paul always came back with the most impressive kills and often was seen to be reading books on hunting and survival skills.

Harry wondered absently, as he attempted to relight last night's fire to heat some water for cooking, what his brothers wanted to do when they were older. He knew that nothing great was expected of him; if he was lucky he would be mated to someone in a good position to provide for him and any children that they may have together. If he was not so lucky then he would have to find a job where they employed submissives. Harry shivered in the cool air as he recalled one of their first Personal and Social Development lessons in school.

The block that was being taught was Work Experience, and all the dominants were given several lectures from people from different working backgrounds to inform them of all their "diverse and exciting career prospects". All the submissives were removed from the room, around half the class although only two of them were boys, including Harry. Harry had been excited to hear the topic of their lesson, and had felt a sort of desperate eagerness to hear what his future could hold. A tall female dominant, rarer than male dominants and more common than male submissives, had strode into the classroom. Harry had thought her very beautiful and very strong at the same time. Her voice was clear and commanding. As she began to speak, Harry had felt a sort of fluttering in his belly and had found himself sitting forward in his seat and tense across his shoulders as he waited to hear what exactly he could do with the rest of his life, away from his father.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Harry had felt a huge, painful lump form in his throat and he wondered in a panic if his Adam's apple had swollen or burst. If they were unfortunate and did have to work, they could only expect employment from establishments such as strip clubs or whorehouses, perhaps even a bar if they had good connections. Harry had felt all his hopes for his life slip away in that thirty-minute lecture from that cold and beautiful dominant.

Harry squeaked in pain as a violent bubble of boiling water skipped out of the pot and splashed across the back of his hand. He had not noticed the water boiling and was crouching too close to the fire.

He jumped, startled, as Richard sprung from the tent wielding his dagger. There was a strangely fierce light in his eyes and his murderous gaze fell upon Harry, whose eyes widened in fear. Harry lost his balance and fell onto his backside into the soft and moist soil. He could hear his heart thumping louder and louder in his ears and his breath was coming faster and faster as Richard charged at him, the dagger still raised.

Harry clenched his eyes shut and his shaking fingers dug into the cool soil in anticipation of what was to come. This was it; Richard was finally acting on their father's orders and was going to end him here in the wood where no one would ever come to his aid. Harry thought of the thick, undulating bands of muscle that encased Richard's body and knew with a sinking feeling that there was no way that he could fight him off. There was a stabbing pain in his heart when he realised that Caspian's "admission" of love could not possibly be true; he had only said it to hear it said back, so that he, his brothers and his father could laugh at his foolishness and delusions later, when his body was rotting in the ground.

A second undignified squeak escaped his throat as he felt the full weight of his brother crush him to the ground. He wished furiously that at least in his dying moments he could show some substance. His whole world became darkness as the hulking body blocked out all light.

His heart was pulsing sickeningly in his ears and he could feel the flutter of the delicate skin on the underside of his wrists as the red, syrupy blood rushed through his veins.

Richard was so heavy on top of him, crushing him into the dirt; he was certain that at any moment his frail body would snap under the dominant's incredible weight.

Harry waited for the sharp pain that would end his life. He was uncertain as to where it would strike him on his body, and that seemed to make the stretching seconds even longer and more unbearable; not knowing which part of himself to brace and prepare, being taken by surprise.

His fearful eyes tightly clenched shut and his face screwed up in expectation of the blow, Harry's mind suddenly fell upon the memory of the river and knew that he could never hope to be as it was.

He felt tears of anger and self-hatred leak from the corners of his eyes and cursed his perpetual ineptitude to the belly of hell.

Harry was so consumed that at first he did not understand when Richard whispered in his ear, "Harry, are you alright? What happened? Was it an animal or a werewolf?" His voice was unnaturally high and urgent. Harry did not understand what was going on and his breathing remained ragged and panicked, adrenaline sweeping through his body.

Harry heard the shift of the tent material and the snap of a twig. "Richard? What on earth are you doing?" Caspian's booming voice soared through Harry's brain and he dared to crack open his eyes. He heard Caspian loping towards them.

Richard was surveying the trees with a practiced eye and his knife was still raised. Harry noted uncertainly that it was not pointed at him.

He still could not see Caspian, but could hear him and it sounded as if Paul was approaching also.

"Fucking hell, Richard! You're crushing him! All fucking fifteen stones of you!" Paul's shriek reassured Harry and he relaxed a little; Paul was going to help him, although it didn't look likely that Richard was going to kill him any time soon anyway. What the hell was wrong with everybody? Or was this the result of something that he had done?

Richard glanced down at his brother in surprise as both Caspian and Paul hauled him off of Harry. His eyes widened as he took in his distinctly squashed-looking baby brother.

"Oh, shit! Harry, I'm sorry!" Paul hissed reproachfully and Richard added hurriedly, "Excuse my bad language!" and offered a veiny hand that Harry accepted warily. He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and immediately backed off from the others. He noted sadly that Richard's "bad language" was probably the most open thing he had ever said to him and definitely one of the first apologies that he had ever received. People seemed to close up emotionally around him, even other submissives, saying little and never meeting his rarely offered gaze, yet staring constantly.

Caspian descended upon him, checking him over for wounds and dusting him off rather violently. Richard was still scanning the area with alarmed eyes. "Watch out, you guys. Harry was attacked-"

"Yeah, by you!" Caspian cut in angrily.

"No! I heard him cry out and I ran out to protect him. Admittedly, he got flattened in the process, but you can't expect a submissive to protect itself. I was just trying to help and give him some cover!"

Harry froze. Richard... His eyes snapped to the other raven-haired man's apologetic and worried stare. He was protecting him. Did he care too? Harry swallowed, ashamed. Why must he always think the worst of people? Richard was right, he couldn't protect himself. He wasn't a dominant and he wasn't like the river. He was just helping him and of course, he, Harry, had jumped to the wrong conclusion.

Caspian's calloused hands stilled on his left hand where he had been burned. He turned the tiny palm over in his own bucket-like hands and glared at the wound icily.

His coppery eyes arrested Harry's gaze. "Who did this to you?" Could he not protect his little brother even when their father was not here? He was so useless! He had let Harry down again!

Harry understood now. His brothers did care for him, but they were scared of their father. Harry could understand that: he was scared of him too. His whole body flooded with warmth as he took in the three pairs of worried eyes fixed upon him; there was anger there too, but for the first time in his life he truly believed that it was not directed at him.

Harry shook his head. There was no attacker; neither animal nor werewolf. He had just been daydreaming, again, and had been foolish enough to be burned by the boiling water. The warmth in him was washed away by the cold waters of guilt as he realised that he was being pathetic again, a burden causing his pack unnecessary concern.

Paul was getting impatient. Why couldn't he just speak like a normal person? He loved his brother but he could be frustrating, especially at times like these when they could all be in danger. "What do you mean?!" he snapped.

Harry visibly flinched and his gaze dropped to his toes instantly. Caspian glared at Paul with venom that the older man had not known his brother possessed. Caspian turned his back to Paul in disgust and Paul felt a searing pain in his chest.

Caspian placed a soothing hand on Harry's soft cheek, skin so often stained purple, black, red, yellow, green. Now its reflective quality gave it a pearlescent glow. He spoke in smooth tones despite his inner rage and panic. "It's okay, little one. How did you get that burn? Who hurt you?"

Harry chewed his bottom lip and pointed, embarrassed, at the violently quaking pot of water. There was a moment of silence as the older brothers tried to work out what their silent charge could possibly be indicating. Then Richard ventured slowly, "Your attacker was... a kitchen appliance?" Harry nodded ashamedly, even though inside his head he was thinking, 'Of course not! What do you think it did, jumped up and bit me? It was the water!'

Caspian hesitated, then burst into peals of laughter, clapping Harry on the back. Harry's eyes widened and he nearly lost his balance. Paul joined in and so did Richard. Harry's cheeks burned, mortified, and his eyes stung with hurt tears.

Paul gasped, "He may be pretty, but his mate will just have to accept his failings as a cook and hire a chef!"

Harry twisted the hem of his baggy t-shirt in his shaking hands and allowed a few tears to fall as his brothers laughed at him.

end chapter


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Harry and his brothers emerged from the thick, cloying trees two days later. Harry, despite his knocked confidence, had never felt happier, nor closer, to his small pack than he did right then.

He was truly delighted with life and the huge world now laid before him as a rich feast on a magnificent table. They had not yet spied anyone else, but Paul, the only one to have visited the palace before, assured them that they would arrive in about three more days.

Paul was nearly mature now and so Harry hoped that he would find his mate at the palace too.

They came across the path that Paul was looking for, and the three youngest brothers were shocked. It was huge, grey, and stretched off into the distance in both directions. Harry could not see where it began or ended; it made him feel disorientated and nauseous, and for the first time since they had left the mansion he was not entirely happy about being in a new, scary place that he knew nothing about.

The path was very wide and seemed to be split into two sections by a cracked and faded white line running like stitches down the centre.

All around the routeway were lumpy hills and uniform fields of yellow rapeseed and golden wheat.

Richard queried, "Is this human-made, Paul?"

"Yes, I assume so. It leads right up to the palace and the surrounding settlement. It's made of extremely hard-wearing material." He stamped his foot upon the grey mass for emphasis. "I heard that Alpha Greyback is keen to open trade channels with the humans to get a hold of some of their more useful technologies, although they wouldn't ever supply weapons, of course," he added bitterly.

There was trouble in the south, Harry had read in the newspapers before they had left. Rebels who were unhappy with the current system of "we ignore humans, they ignore us" were raiding villages and murdering werewolves. Harry understood that they believed that werewolves were superior to humans and that the werewolves should have global control and power. They believed that humans should be herded together like cattle and then let loose in cordoned-off sections of land for werewolves to hunt and kill for amusement.

The leader, a werewolf called "Rafael", did not care how many innocent werewolves he had to kill in order to attract the attention of the Alpha and create panic and malcontent amongst the populace. Harry wondered if Rafael would challenge Alpha Greyback and shivered at the possibilities; he hoped that he would never have to live under the rule of such a madman.

Many good warriors were being killed in the combat that was taking place, and Harry knew that the humans' deadly weaponry would make a huge difference in squashing the building threat.

If the situation grew any more dire, the Alpha would have to send civilians to fight, and that meant his brothers would almost certainly be killed. They were all over twenty-one; they were eligible for death.

Harry forbade himself from thinking on the concerning matter further, and joined the throng of people all making their way along the path.

It seemed that the whole kingdom was converging upon the palace. Harry was pushed along by the current of people of all different colours and sizes. Some were dressed flamboyantly and others were practically in rags. The noise was deafening as horses' hooves clapped upon the hard surface and people shouted and laughed with each other.

Harry was extremely nervous; he had never even seen this many people before!

Harry started off between Paul and Caspian, with Richard following behind. All three dominants' eyes were darting about and carefully judging where they could push through.

Harry took in with wide eyes the rainbow of colours and the countless multitudes of smells all around him, pushing down upon him and propelling him forwards. He could smell meat cooking, the unpleasant scent of unwashed bodies, and the sweet smell of fresh meadow hay.

Harry was especially intrigued to see that there were other people that had the same fair skin as him. Harry had grown up in an area where everybody had dark hair, eyes and skin, including his father and brothers, although because of their mother's fair colouring his brothers were slightly different to the rest of the community, like Harry. However, they had always looked enough like their father and everyone else to be accepted; with Harry's green eyes, pale-as-parchment skin, and his influential and rich father's obvious dislike and disdain, he had never belonged.

He allowed himself to be pushed this way and that way by Caspian, occasionally being hoisted into the air over people lying on the path or various camping paraphernalia left tying by rich packs who could afford to replace such things, much to Harry's embarrassment and indignation (which he never considered voicing).

It annoyed him that others could handle him so effortlessly. He hated his tiny, bony, pale body. He was skinny and unattractive.

Paul led them to a tap at the side of the crowded path. There was a long queue but they had run out of water completely and were all sweating and dizzy.

As they waited, Richard watched intently for people who tried to skip. (He took great pleasure in making a spectacle of such skippers and forcing them to the back of the queue. Very loudly.) Harry wondered why there were so many people.

Exactly half the population were submissive, each werewolf destined for another, but many of them would have already found their mates, Harry reasoned. So what were all these people doing here? Roughly two million werewolves; one million submissives; five hundred thousand unmated? Wow! Harry couldn't imagine where they were all going to stay; perhaps a special camp outside the palace would be set up?

Harry cocked his head as Paul spoke, "Wow, I didn't realise it would be this busy! It looks like every unmated werewolf, submissive and dominant, is heading for the Ceremony."

"Well," Richard supplied, "it makes sense, doesn't it? Some wolves live for hundreds of years and never come across their mates. It stands to reason that anyone without a mate will want to take this opportunity to find theirs when all the unmated submissives are definitely going to be there."

Caspian nodded in agreement and they all shuffled forwards a little, nearing the tap.

"Of course, the unmated dominants will have to go with an unmated submissive relation if they want to be accommodated by the Alpha."

Paul threw his head back, his dark hair shining in free ripples, and laughed. "Yeah, that man doesn't take any shit from anyone!" Harry noted the cursing that was not permitted in front of submissives and decided that either they had forgotten his presence, or they were more relaxed around him now. Paul continued, "From the stories I've heard in the pub, he sounds like a really hard character. He claimed the role of Alpha almost ten years ago in battle against Alpha Stone: tore the guy to pieces! He was so young too, only twenty-four. You have to be pretty sick to kill another werewolf the way he did so young."

Richard argued, "He had to though! He used to be human and Stone was the one who killed his family and turned him. Stone spotted some potential for a powerful dominant under him and, disregarding the child's own feelings and happiness, seized what he wanted. Stone was born to two werewolves and didn't understand the pain and bitterness that he was instilling in the boy when he took him, and man, did that bitterness come back to haunt him! He trained the boy to be a ruthless killer, and kill ruthlessly he did. If you ask me, Stone was the sick one, not Greyback."

Harry remained silent, but was intrigued. Harry knew that he, himself, deserved all he got for the murder of his mother, and did not feel sorry for himself, but the Alpha sounded as if he had been put through hell for no reason. That wasn't fair.

Paul murmured, "He's a scary man, Alpha Greyback. When I travelled to the Palace two years ago to represent the Potter pack in the Games, I met him. Well," Paul screwed up his face, "I didn't meet him, exactly, but I was in the same room as him-"

Richard sniggered; Paul glared. "-and he is a cold, cold man. He's huge -- must be nearly seven feet -- and built like a tank. I looked tiny next to him! He had this weird grey hair and hardly ever spoke above a whisper. People listened though! He was competing too, not the fastest man on Earth -- how could he be with all that flesh?! -- but he thrashed everyone else in about everything except for the sprints. It'll be very interesting to see what his mate is like. You'd have to be pretty odd to be heaven's match for that man."

Harry's brow furrowed and he took a long look up and down Paul's body. Paul noticed the attention he was receiving, and it made him sweat to be scrutinised by the usually unobtrusive werewolf.

Paul's body: six feet or more and pure muscle. Harry was in disbelief. No way could anyone be so massive that they made Paul look tiny. Most dominants were all about the same height as each other; six feet to six and a half feet.

Harry was about five and a half feet, at best, and wished fiercely that he was taller like his brothers. He didn't know any other man, submissive or otherwise, as small as him and two or three of the female submissives in his year were taller than him as well. He felt like an ugly midget.

Paul coughed and addressed Harry, who was still eyeing him with an eyebrow raised (something that Paul hadn't ever known him to do), "So, Harry." Harry's eyes flicked to the ground as attention was drawn to him. "Are you looking forward to the Ceremony? Having a mate? You're bound to find them by the looks of it; everyone is going!"

Harry chewed his bottom lip and shook his bangs from his face as he looked up at Paul and responded with a tiny shrug.

Paul's eyes set authoritatively. "Harry, you should at least try to speak. James isn't here now and this time would be an ideal one to practice your oral skills before you meet your mate."

Richard burst into laughter and Paul flushed red when he realised just exactly what he had said. Harry did not understand and felt his gut clench when Richard laughed at him again.

Caspian frowned, not liking Richard's comment nor the idea of Harry with a dominant, male or female. He lifted his little brother's chin firmly and looked into Harry's hurt eyes. He felt his chest fill with affection for him and spoke softly, "Don't listen to them, Harry. They don't mean to be hurtful. Your speech will come with time and effort, not overnight, so don't worry about it, okay? You know, you are perfect the way you are." Harry's face lit up with a slow smile that began in his eyes and melted across the rest of his visage.

Caspian stored the image away in his memory, handling it carefully and reverently. He smiled back and patted his shoulder firmly before pulling him further forwards as the queue finally moved again.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Harry and his siblings were bedded down for the night at the side of the human path. The path was empty now as no-one could easily drive the tent pegs into the impermeable mass.

Harry was exhausted. His feet felt strangely numb and thrummed with a pleasant heat. He tucked a slim leg between Caspian's own, safe in the knowledge that the contact was welcomed, and allowed his tense shoulders to relax finally. Caspian grunted sleepily and tightened his hold on his brother.

They had walked all day and had only stopped when they could no longer see clearly where they were placing their feet. Richard had taken first watch and now Paul was taking his turn. Harry had tried to argue that he, too, should take a turn, but had been defeated when Paul had cruelly walked away in the middle of one of the long silences that were scattered throughout Harry's sentences, unwilling to hear the submissive out and taking advantage of his condition.

It had hurt at first, but with Richard's and Caspian's outraged gaping and furious, wide eyes, Harry had for the first time felt a twinge of dislike for his eldest brother, rather than self-pity.

He had dropped his point and resigned himself to the fact that everyone thought him weak and incompetent. Perhaps, one day, he could use this perception to his advantage.

Harry fell asleep, content in strong arms, ready to meet his vicious night-demons.

The next morning they set off once again. "Only a couple more days," assured Paul. Richard and Caspian only grunted as they marched along the slowly filling path. They had set off rather early and it was only an hour after they had set off that others had begun to seep onto the path, yawning and faces slack.

Harry glanced at Paul's stiff back . It occurred to him that Richard and Caspian were punishing him for the previous night. This thought made him both grateful and guilty; Richard and Caspian were both standing up for him in their own odd way, but, because of him, Paul was upset.

Harry tugged on Paul's shirt gently. The elder Potter half-turned his upper body and cocked his head, inviting him to speak.

Harry just smiled. Paul's eyes and brow tightened in sadness even as his mouth softened in a smile.  
Caspian watched the silent interaction with a pout. He would have to forgive his pig of a brother now.  
He clapped his brother's shoulder, perhaps a little harder than was necessary, but the intention was clear. Richard, relieved that they were no longer fighting, echoed the gesture.

___________________________________________________________________________________

It was lunchtime when they saw the carriage. They had settled themselves upon the warm, dry path, along with thousands of others and had begun their meal. Harry nibbled habitually and the others devoured their food without inhibition.

That was when they heard the grumbles and complaints of people who were forced to pack up their things and shuffle out of the way of a golden carriage that was trundling along regally. It was lead by two pure white horses that lifted their feet delicately and threw their heads about as they bounced along, snorting occasionally.

The gold leaf of the carriage was set over intricate -- and tasteless, thought Harry -- designs of flowers and birds. It glinted in the noon sunlight, one flash of light catching Harry painfully in the eyes.

It was obviously the carriage of the Wolf Mother's Priestess. The Priestess, upon touching a werewolf, experienced a vision which told her of whom that werewolf was destined for. She was chosen by the Wolf Mother's Elders, ancient werewolves that lived in seclusion, piety, and prayer. Her powers derived from the dull bronze anklet she wore. It was set with amber and it was said that the ancient sap glowed orange when the Priestess experienced a vision. There had only been three Priestesses in recorded history and they had all taken their own lives. Some put it down to loneliness, as a Priestess would never have a mate. The current Priestess was six centuries old, or thereabouts, and was widely respected and revered.

The submissive driving the carriage -- all the Priestess' servants were females, so were usually submissive -- cooed to the horses and gently pulled on the leather reins curled in her hands. The horses slowed and then halted. Harry was disappointed when the carriage stopped directly next to them and therefore blocked out the warm rays of sunshine.

People observed the carriage curiously and all were surprised when the door suddenly burst open to allow a very fat young man about Harry's own age to stumble from the golden vessel. He landed with a cry and with eyes tightly shut upon Harry, who was too shocked to get out of the way. Harry's head connected with the path and a sickening CRACK leapt into the air.

The boy weighed an absolute tonne and Harry found that he couldn't breathe. The boy groaned, and then gasped as he was yanked off of the slight boy that had cushioned his fall by three sets of hands whose grip was sure to leave bruises.

Harry accepted a lungfull of air gratefully as the weight was lifted from his chest. He sighed as he sat up; people seemed to have a thing about crushing him. He hissed through clenched teeth as a sharp pain at the back of his head made itself known. He fearfully, not really wanting to know how bad it was, brushed a fingertip over the wound and felt a warm wetness there. He sighed yet again.

He looked up as he heard a loud voice from the carriage. His brothers were scowling but were admirably also helping the unfortunate boy who had tumbled from the ornate carriage to his unsteady feet. The boy was clutching his arm, so Harry supposed he must have hurt it in the fall.

A woman with sleek blonde hair tied up in a severe bun was descending a set of wooden steps that had appeared from the carriage door. She wore a worried expression upon her sharp and angled features.

She brushed the boy down, muttering to him in a language that Harry didn't understand. She seemed to be reprimanding him and taking care of him at the same time. When she was done she looked up apologetically at the three towering dominants and switched to English, "I am so sorry, he can be very clumsy sometimes." Her accent was thick and Harry couldn't really understand her very well. English was his second language and he only understood it when it was spoken by a native. Paul, however, did not seem to have this trouble and replied, also in English, "That is alright--"

The woman, who was submissive, seemed to enjoy talking as she interrupted, "Where is the boy who Rook landed upon?"

His brothers seemed to remember him just then and all hurried over to help him stand. Caspian inspected his head and growled. He moved over to Richard's bad and rooted around in the bag, then grunted in triumph as he pulled out a sheepskin drawstring bag. He stepped back over to his brothers and pushed Harry back to the ground with a heavy hand on his shoulder. Caspian settled behind his little brother and went about tending to his wound quietly and quickly.

Harry hummed and seemed to be quite happy to be fussed over in silence.

The crowd that had gathered to watch the scene was scattered by a snarl and a harsh glare from Paul. This was his pack (temporarily) and nobody was allowed to stare.

The woman led the boy, who looked extremely embarrassed, over to the group and addressed Harry, "I am so sorry that you were hurt. Please forgive us." She bowed and the boy lurched to do the same.

Harry smiled and nodded at them. Caspian poked his head over Harry's shoulder and snapped his teeth together in his face. Harry flinched but knew that his pack-mate would not regain his senses until he had satisfied the instinct to care for him, especially with the full moon only four days away.

Caspian snarled, "I am trying to stitch your wound here! Do not nod!" Harry desperately fought the urge to nod his acquiescence. Caspian went back to his work.

Richard put in, "Harry," he indicated the green-gazed boy, "has trouble speaking. Do not be offended if he does not answer you."

"Oh," the woman looked a little shocked. "I see... Well, Harry," she flashed a snowy smile at him, "this," she pushed forwards the mortified boy, who was gaping at Harry openly, "is my son. His name is Rook." She bobbed her head in encouragement at the nonplussed boy. Harry wondered what on earth was wrong with this lady. She was speaking very slowly and loudly, eyes wide and blue. The bewildered expression on his face only seemed to distress her further. "Oh, I am so very sorry that we have hurt an already disturbed boy!" She wailed dramatically, throwing her hands in the air.

Harry frowned. Disturbed?

Richard snorted, "He is not a simpleton, my lady. He simply does not speak often."

The lady ceased her gesticulation sceptically. "Hmmm... You are certain?"

Richard rolled his eyes and nodded emphatically, but seemed more amused than annoyed. This seemed to cheer her up drastically. "Well, then, Harry. This is Rook and I am Marylla. Pleased to meet you." She held out a slim hand and Harry shook it, still rather uncertain about this wild character. He had never met anyone like her.  
He studied the overweight boy, her son. His mother's edgy features were lost on him, instead replaced by a round face and a small, sagging mouth. His eyes were large, Harry noted, but looked small in his wide face. They were a deep blue like his mothers', and his short, thick hair was the same platinum blonde.

Harry smiled at him and offered a hand, as was the custom of English-speakers as he did not know what the greetings of Rook's own people were. The boy seemed to be examining Harry as closely as he himself had been examined and did not notice the hand until his mother elbowed him. He jumped and his eyes fell upon the soft palm and delicate fingers. His face flushed red and he hastily grasped it, letting go almost immediately.

Caspian seemed to be done with his wound and got up to put the supplies away. Richard helped Harry to his feet. Paul began, "Well, it was nice to meet you--" a soft yet commanding was heard from inside the carriage. It was the same foreign language that Marylla had spoken.

A woman who looked exactly like the smiling Marylla poked her head out of the carriage door and took in the group before her. She looked curious, and gracefully descended the steps. She wore a loose cotton robe and her long, clean hair fell freely down her back. A glint of orange caught Harry's eye and his gaze fell upon the anklet that hung loosely around a slim ankle.

His head snapped up to meet the calm, blue gaze of the Priestess.

She met his gaze quizzically. Harry gaped stared for a moment longer, but then realised how rude he was being and dropped his head jerkily.

The Priestess raised an almost indiscernible eyebrow, and addressed her sister in English, "Who are these people?"

Marylla looked embarrassed and Rook scuffed his feet noisily. "They were taking lunch, I do believe, until Rook," she placed a comforting hand upon his meaty shoulder, "stumbled from the carriage and landed upon this boy." She jerked a thumb in Harry's general direction.

Paul sighed loudly. "I am sorry, Priestess, but with all due respect," he made a shallow bow, "we really must be going. We have already wasted too much time." He stooped and heaved his heavy bag onto his back. Harry took the hint and hastily began to pack all their food into Caspian's bag.

"Wait," Marylla commanded. "We would be honoured if you all would ride with us. Rook here has gotten very bored all on his own with only his mother and auntie. I'm sure he would appreciate the company of another male submissive his own age, at least for the duration of this journey."

Richard and Paul both looked tempted by the offer and the prospect of no more walking with their heavy packs, but Caspian declined, "No, thank you. Harry finds new people somewhat distressing." Harry pouted. Distressed? Disturbed? What was with all the insults today? He looked up and coughed.

Every head turned to look at him.

He took a deep breath and addressed Marylla, "I w-w-would l-love... to... ride w-with you." His vowels were long and unnatural as he struggled to form the following brittle consonant. His statement was quiet and hung low in the air in a way that made the tall dominants to stoop unconsciously.

Marylla clapped her hands in delight and looked to her sister for permission almost as an afterthought. The Priestess studied Harry intensely and nodded sharply without looking away.

Caspian frowned but allowed himself to be ushered up the wooden steps which creaked under his weight.

Later, when they were all introduced and seated in the small but luxurious carriage, Marylla struck up conversation with Richard, who seemed to be quite enamoured of her.

There was only one room in the carriage with two benches along opposite walls and one door to Harry's left.  
Harry was perched tensely in Paul's lap as there hadn't been enough room, especially with three bulky dominants, and Harry was definitely the lightest. Harry felt acutely uncomfortable with using someone else as a pillow and hoped that he wasn't causing poor Paul any discomfort. He stared out of the small window in the carriage door and allowed himself to move with the swaying motion of the golden carriage.

Harry did not look up from his study of the passing throng of people and so did not notice the intense scrutiny he was under.

The Priestess was a quiet, serious woman and seemed to allow her vivacious sister to do most of the talking. Paul did not like her, nor the way she was staring at his baby brother, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. Her white-gloved fingers curled and uncurled in her lap restlessly as she gazed as if she was itching to grab something.

The Priestess' nephew, Rook, seemed to be more concerned with being caught than his stoic aunt was. His eyes were wide and fascinated as he fervently stole glances at Harry's form, before he hastily lowered his gaze once more, blinking rapidly. Paul noted with slight disgust that the boy was sweating profusely. He was wedged between his two slim female companions, neither of which seemed in the least bothered by this.

Marylla was babbling freely across from Richard, who listened most attentively. "We stopped so that Rook here could stretch his legs. We've travelled such a very long way and he gets the most awful cramp, so he needs to walk it off." Paul suppressed a snort. This boy certainly could do with a good long walk, not to mention a whole lot less food.

Paul hoped that his own mate would not come from a rich pack like this one, as rich ones were usually overweight with spoiling. It was also something of a status symbol; a pack would overfeed their submissives to show that they were successful enough to do so. Paul could see the tactical benefits to the pack, but he pitied the poor submissives who had to bear such a burden, as well as feeling slightly disgusted by them. Their own pack was very rich, but after the death of their Mother, there was no way that James was going to pamper Harry.

He gave Harry's too-thin thigh a gentle squeeze, probably exactly where his tattoo encased the limb like a slender, satin ribbon.

Harry turned his head slightly to see his face and cocked his head with a shy smile. When Paul only smiled back and Harry saw that nothing was required of him, he turned back to his careful study of the world.  
Paul followed his gaze and wondered what thoughts filled his baby brother's head, so rarely expressed. Harry really was an enigma. He sighed and rested his head upon Harry's shoulder and closed his eyes to rest.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

They stopped for their evening meal just as the sun was setting. They all filed out of the carriage and the servant who had been driving them also hopped down from her perch.

Harry and his brothers were just about to settle themselves on the hard path to eat, when Marylla stopped them with amusement and condescension dancing in her eyes.

"You do not have to sit upon the rough ground! Shete will set up for us."

Harry blinked; set up? Set up what?

Whilst the mass of people around them gazed enviously as Shete, the servant, sleekly erected what looked like a small palace in cloth form. She pulled all the materials and the group's belongings out from a hidden compartment beneath the carriage on its outside. After only five minute's frantic labour, a luxurious dwelling had been constructed for them to enjoy.

Richard and Paul shared a look that clearly said, "We definitely struck gold with this lot!"

Caspian was rethinking his initial rejection of the odd pack.

Harry simply could not believe his eyes. Was he really allowed to eat and sleep in there? Was that possible?

Marylla and Rook instantly fled inside to the comfort that the rich tent could provide, whilst the Priestess, unsmiling, thanked Shete with a formal nuzzling of noses, who then moved to care for the horses. The Priestess turned to her guests and swept her arm gracefully to the side, indicating the rich, wine-red of the velvet tent-flap.

Harry hung back to allow his brothers to enter first and was left alone with the Priestess. He was waiting for her to go in; she was his superior. After a long silence in which Harry did not hear the lady move into the tent, he looked up apprehensively, not entirely sure why he was nervous.

It could have been the dead aura that the Priestess possessed; as she had no mate she was neither dominant nor submissive. You could always sense which a person was without even realising that you were taking in the information. The nothingness that stilled the air around the Priestess was unnerving and seemed perverse.

He caught the blue, piercing gaze in question, intending to look away immediately but being stopped by something in her expression. Harry was good at reading people's faces usually, but could not place exactly what the intense study meant. He shivered as their eyes remained connected and she took a step forwards -- away from the tent. It felt like she could see right through him and into his true self: past the flesh; past the muscle; past the bone; right into his thumping, red heart, slick with his lifeblood.

He didn't understand what she wanted or what she was doing. Was she angry? Was she going to hurt him? No! He had thought that he had gotten away from all this!

She was right in front of him now, barely half a foot of insubstantial air separating their tense bodies.

A flash of white caught his eye and he broke their connection to watch her remove her soft glove.

His brow furrowed and he glanced back up into her face. What was she doing?

Her voice came low and husky, "I wonder..." He watched her thin lips twitch as she placed a cool, bare hand upon his cheek. Her eyes remained open but were blank and unseeing -- the eyes of a blind person or of a person who saw everything.

Harry remained perfectly still and was aware of nothing but the cooling air and the warming hand.

After a moment the blue eyes snapped back into focus and an unexpected grin flooded across her face, showing off squint and yellowing teeth.

She clicked her tongue and told him, "I knew it!"

She swept his bangs away from his forehead and pressed a dry kiss between his bewildered eyes. Her breath was hot against his ear as she whispered, "Do your best, and then do more."

With that she removed herself from his personal space and ducked into the tent from which soft sounds of merriment, most probably created by Marylla and Richard, emitted.

Harry swayed on the spot in confusion for a moment longer before tentatively stepping into the tent, desperately hoping no-one would take note of his entrance.

_______________________________________________________________________________

He allowed his right hand, thick-fingered and calloused, to snake around the throat of the whimpering werewolf before him. He applied no pressure but allowed the ominous threat to linger.

"I'll ask once more," the harsh grate of his quiet voice seemed to be the last straw for the quivering man and warm, wet fingers of urine caressed the twitching skin between his tightly clenched thighs.

Fenrir growled in disgust and his nose wrinkled in distaste. He tutted, then hissed in the man's abnormally small ear, "Pathetic..." He stroked the man's sweaty cheek and squeezed his right hand harshly and suddenly. "Where is your Alpha hiding? Where is Raphael? Give him to me!"

The man's eyes bulged sickeningly as the powerful hand around his throat did not relent.  
With a garrotted groan the man bit down on his dry tongue.

Fenrir snarled in frustration and allowed the man to drop to the floor, writhing, as salty blood flooded his throat and seeped from the corners of his tightly pressed lips.

His Beta murmered with his eyes to the filthy flagstones of the dungeon, "Should we assist him, my Alpha?"

Fenrir sighed and narrowed his icy blue eyes upon the form of the man drowning in his own blood. "No, leave him. I trust you to dispose of the body, Nile."

He rose to his feet and stalked from the dark room. He had been careless, but the next time such a golden opportunity arose he would be more vigilant.

He considered sending for a servant to fuck, but resignedly decided that with his mate's imminent arrival, such encounters would have to cease.

As he settled beneath the covers of his bed, he wondered whether his elusive mate would turn out to be a curse or a blessing. He snorted: they had better be fucking fantastic between the sheets!

_______________________________________________________________________________

It was one more night until the full moon; it seemed that they had perfect timing. The majestical palace, once a monastery for French monks in the ancient human reign, was beyond enormous.

It was situated in the middle of an estuary on an island of land, and was only accessible by a thin stretch of sand that was immersed by the water at high tide.

It looked like a layer cake. The huge structure had piles upon piles of buildings and gardens fitting snugly together in unconventional and imaginative ways. The pathways and streets looped around and over each other in an obscure mess. The myriads of different coloured stones were sprinkled like sugar over the whole city. People crowded and clambered over the entire mammoth, looking like ants on their ant-hill.

The streets, houses, and shops all spiralled up to the main palace, a giant wallowing in the sea.

Atop the highest peak of the palace a golden angel glinted in the sunlight, proudly presenting his sword to the heavens.

They were still miles away, but now that they could actually see the palace Harry could not swallow away the lump in his throat. He glanced over to Rook, whose eyes were as wide and fearful as Harry's own. Rook returned his gaze and attempted to smile encouragingly but only managed to produce a grimace.

Harry laughed softly at his new friend and Rook shakily breathed his own emulation, trying to relax.

They had, despite the barrier of Harry's lack of speech, become good friends, although Rook remained in awe of his silent and gentle companion. He hoped they would not lose contact after the Ceremony; one of them may acquire a controlling mate for all they knew, that would disallow any friendship.

For Harry this was his first friend, if you did not count his brothers, and he was truly grateful. Rook was sweet and funny, and as a result of Rook's own shyness and uncertainty, Harry felt more relaxed and confident around him. He hoped that his own company was satisfying for Rook also, as he didn't want to force himself upon the nice boy, who he discovered was Russian.

Harry had managed to convey that he was Spanish, but Rook hadn't believed him, which was very confusing.

They watched a line of haggard werewolves shuffling back along the pathway, which the Priestess had called a "motorway", coming towards them. People in their own flow, towards the Palace, occasionally were seen to stop and ask the tired travellers where they were going. Apparently the disgruntled people's explanation did not sit well with the people in their own line, and a few tantrums were observed before someone dragged the unhappy characters onwards.

Harry wondered what was going on, and wanted to question the Priestess as she had attended numerous Ceremonies, although admittedly not on this scale, and must have had some idea as to what was happening. He didn't like to ask, however, as he would probably make a fool out of himself, and if he was patient he may find out eventually anyway.

He was pleased, therefore, when Rook turned to his mother, who positively doted on him, and asked her exactly the question on his mind.

"Well," she began, "the palace is massive and has lots of room for guests, but not enough for everyone this time, so the Alpha is asking for everybody to register at the palace, and then head back out to the land behind us to set up camp. For those who do not have camping equipment sufficient for such a long stay, I am certain appropriate equipment will be provided by the Alpha. Am I not correct, sister?"

The Priestess glared, but inclined her head in conformation.

Rook frowned. "Does that mean that we're going to have to camp in a field for weeks? How horrible!" Harry thought of the flamboyant tent that Rook's small pack owned, which was just as lovely on the inside as the outside promised, and then of the "appropriate equipment" that the Alpha would be distributing on such a huge scale to the miserable werewolves that were unable to afford such luxuries. No wonder those poor people looked so fed up!

"Oh, don't be silly, my sweet, little cub! We aren't expected to live in such a manner! We are guests of honour, are we not, O Great Priestess?" Marylla smirked conspiratorially at her sister, who did not acknowledge her.

Richard swore in Spaish, but Marylla seemed to understand as she turned the full force of her dazzling smile upon him. "Don't worry, sweetie, I'm sure we'll be able to pull a few strings for you."

Richard's face lit up in admiration and relief. He exclaimed, "Really?"

"Yes, we are very important people!" For some reason that Harry could not fathom, as she said this her eyes locked upon his and glittered with a darkness and cunning that he had not noticed in her before.

The Priestess looked up sharply, shattering her aloof silence with a hissed, "Shut UP! That was spoken in confidence!"

Marylla turned her flashing eyes to her sister and they seemed to blacken further with a sick resolve. She purred, "Of course, sister. Forgiveness, please."

The Priestess for once seemed unnerved, but also suspicious, as she returned, "Of course." She turned away.

Everyone's eyes were wide and confused as they watched the sisters apprehensively, afraid that the skin on their faces was about to melt off. What on earth were they talking about?

Harry reflected that the Priestess sure did have a lot of secrets.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Caspian muttered, "We sure are lucky to have caught a ride with you guys."

Marylla laughed. "It is a pleasure!" She pawed Richard's chest possessively. "Your company is delightful, and my dear Rook gets on with Harry so well. They are uncannily alike, are they not?" She smiled adoringly at her distracted son.

Caspian raised a brow, forever rude, and looked the mortified Rook up and down leisurely as he muttered snidely, "Yes, it is uncanny."

Harry didn't really get how Caspian was insulting Rook, but he knew his brother and could tell from his tone that he was being unkind. He squeezed his brother's knee gently and scowled reproachfully. Caspian dutifully looked suitably guilty and shut up.

They were making their way up the winding streets at a sedate pace, mostly due to the throngs of people who had to get out of their way for the ostentatious carriage to squeeze through the narrow ways.

Harry supposed that they were lucky: they had met the Priestess and her family; they had ridden in an expensive carriage; they were provided comforts and luxuries on what would have otherwise been a very difficult journey; and they were going to be allowed to stay in the Alpha's palace when so many others were being turned away.

However, despite all this, and the fact that they were blessedly miles away from James, Harry could not settle his nerves. This was going to be a life-changing experience. There were so many people here that he was very likely to be leaving the palace in a few month's time with his mate. Either his mate would be kind, or they would be cruel. He wanted to stay in contact with his brothers and Rook, but if his mate was the sort that liked their submissive to be truly dependant on them, physically, emotionally, and financially, then there was no way that he would ever see his friend or family again.

And what if his mate did not like him? What if they found his body repulsive, his skills lacking, and his company displeasing? He could not even provide his mate with proper conversation! What was he going to do...?

Strangely, as they came closer and closer to the palace, the buildings became larger and the streets wider. This made Harry feel slightly worried as it made the city feel top-heavy, as if at any moment it would topple over and crumble into the salty water.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Harry settled himself upon the springy block with amazement and disbelief ringing through his veins. He had never in his entire life even heard of a contraption such as this! He wondered what it was and what it was used for. It was certainly very comfortable.

Caspian lowered himself onto the soft surface next to Harry. He hissed and sprang back up again as the... thing... dipped under his weight. He narrowed his eyes at Harry's doe-eyed concern; he could do this! It was just another thing and all things would be conquered by him.

He took a deep breath and allowed himself to flop back upon the bed, holding his breath unconsciously. He seemed genuinely surprised when he found that nothing adverse happened to him, and the surface of the weird item only sank so far before stabilising. He sat up with a grin which dispelled Harry's concern for his brother's strange behaviour and therefore sanity. By the triumphant look upon his brother's face, Harry understood that he expected praise. He rewarded him with a kind smile and a soft pat upon his arm. This seemed to satisfy Caspian sufficiently, and he proceeded to explore the rest of their room, his chest puffed with pride, looking for further enemies to slay.

Paul watched his brothers with an affectionate smile enhancing his features; his brothers really were too cute, each in their own way. Perhaps he should eradicate the mystery of the object that dominated their small room.

"Guys, that is a bed. It is a human luxury and very expensive, but the Alpha is trying very hard to improve standards of living by trading with them. I have heard that within the next thirty years he hopes to have every room in the Palace installed with human washing facilities. Anyway, a bed is like a den, basically. We only have one between us, but humans usually only share their bed with a mate."

Caspian's eyes boggled, "What? They do not sleep with their pack? How strange!"

Paul shrugged, "It's not strange to them. Anyway, I'm heading out about now. I don't want to get trapped inside the palace for three days. You coming?"

Caspian stretched and nodded in agreement. Paul laughed, "I can't wait until you're transformed so that you can be put back in your place and cease your silly Alpha games."

Caspian narrowed his eyes threateningly but his flushed face betrayed his embarrassment.

Harry smiled; he had thought Caspian was being a bit weird. Was he always like this before a transformation? He wouldn't know, since he had never ran with his brothers before. He probably wouldn't be able to keep up anyway...

They had signed a huge register upon their entry to the imposing Palace by pricking their fingers on a needle that was sterilised after each use with a clear liquid whose stench bit at Harry's sensitive nose. They then marked the tomb with a bloody fingerprint. They signed their names next to the print with ink.

Marylla had not wasted any time in informing the guards of who they all were and demanding to be shown to the werewolf in charge of accommodations. The intimidated dominants had scurried away to find the undoubtedly busy person and had reappeared half an hour later with an irritated female dominant striding out before them.

She had scowled at them all, obviously not impressed by the Priestess' sister at all, though she was very respectful to the Priestess herself, and showed Rook and the twins to their rooms. Marylla had insisted, upon reaching their rooms, that Richard stayed with them and Richard seemed all too content to oblige. Marylla then went on to demand rooms for the remaining three werewolves, who were steadily becoming more and more embarrassed with each childish tantrum from her. The woman looked about ready to burst a blood vessel in her temple but had provided a room for them, most probably just for a quiet life.

Harry had felt so sorry for the lady that, upon reaching their dilapidated living-space, he offered a warm, "Thank you" to the harassed dominant with no stutter in his voice. He had been very pleased with this feat and smiled sincerely at the woman, who had done a double-take upon hearing his voice. She seemed to really notice him for the first time and at first seemed shocked but, after looking at him properly, a leer slid across her features.

Caspian hadn't been too amused but Paul seemed to find it hilarious as had she purred to him, "Well, well, sweet submissive, we can't have such a pretty and polite young thing sleeping in such a nasty little room. Come with me and we'll find something a little more appropriate." She had rolled her "r"s in a strangely lewd manner.

Harry had been completely baffled, but when he realised that she was giving them such a lovely room, he had forgotten his questions and just decided that she was a very nice dominant. He thanked her once again and she had smiled before stalking off to continue her business.

Paul had congratulated him on his cunning, but had stopped laughing when he realised that Harry had no idea what was going on.

Now they were in their lovely room, in a magnificent Palace, sharing the air with the Alpha himself. Harry couldn't believe this was happening to him. He imagined it was the sort of story he would tell to his grandchildren one day, if he was lucky enough to find sufficient peace and prosper with his mate that they could afford to have pups.

There was a forest to the west, they had been told by a lone werewolf at dinner, where everyone went to run during the transformation. That was where his brothers would go for their transformation, but Harry did not expect that he would see it for himself.

The dining hall was impressive and high-ceilinged, as were most of the public rooms, and sparsely decorated. Huge leviathians of furniture dominated the rooms of the Palace with broad banners and tapestries swept across the walls. The Alpha was conspicuous in his absence during dinner. People said that he rarely made an appearance at meals, instead favouring to eat in his rooms.

The only people allowed in the dining hall to eat communally were those with accomodation in the palace. Food was being sent over to the camp as they ate. Harry could not help but feel guilty that he was enjoying such luxuries whilst others were hunkered down in tents eating from tin bowls. However, it would not matter once the full moon rose, then, everyone would be enjoying themselves equally.

Caspian and Paul made their was to the door of the room, anxious to be bathed in the moon's silvery glow. They paused at the door, "Hurry up, Harry. Don't just sit there." Paul ordered.

Harry's eyes widened and remained focused on the murky green of his thin trousers. He knew what they were saying, but he couldn't believe it. Tonight was the night that he would run?

Caspian rolled his eyes and strode over to him. He lifted him easily, his large hands finding purchase upon the skinny limbs and waist, and slung him over his shoulders, sighing dramatically. "Looks like Harry's legs have stopped working, brother. I'll just have to lug him around for the next three days."

Paul snorted, "Oh, poor you. Many would kill for the priveledge, you know." He was obviously not in the mood to play around with his brother. Caspian's face fell momentarily and he sniffed loudly, offended. But he then grinned and brushed past the the moody werewolf and jiggled his little brother purposefully with each bouncing step, "He's right, little one. I've got you! Let's see who will challenge me for you..." He swung around looking for his fantastical enemies.

Harry laughed as he was swung around, though he kept a wary eye on the hard-looking wood of the floors, "Silly, I only h-have t-two... other b-b-brothers... and neither of th-them are going to t-t-try," he struggled for a moment and breathed in concentration, "t-to take me from you; you're the only one th-that... wants me."

Caspian sighed, "No, I'm not Harry. Lots of people like you and care about you greatly."

They remained in silence until they were outside of the city walls. They waited by the main entrance for Paul, who was probably retrieving Richard. Hundereds of werewolves, all as agitated as Paul was, were streaming from the huge wooden doors out into the night.

The sigh of the waves in the soft breeze swept around them, and Harry could taste the salt in the air. The gargantuan globe that ruled their lives hung in the inky night as if twirling on the end of a string. Its fierce light leeched the colour from their faces and softly tingled over their skin.

Paul was not going to make it on time to meet them, but they would find each other later.

Caspian sighed in bliss, the pain of their transformation something easily borne when the reward for it was so sweet. He set Harry down carefully upon the rock of the promenade and worked a crick out of his neck. He began to stretch and relax his body. Harry watched in confusion; this was something that he had never done himself. Pain for him was something that he was used to, and no longer bothered him as much as it might someone else. However, he copied what his brother was doing, seeing no harm in easing his discomfort.

People all around them were in similar postions; breathing, stretching. Those with mates who resided in the palace were attending to each other; massaging and soothing.

Minutes passed and eventually something inside him found the rest of his being. He laughed at the sensation he so loved; a part of himself coming home. He felt that freedom and that passion rise in his throat, accompanied by the scorching fire of the transormation. He let his eyes fall shut and completely accepted the pain, welcomed the pain.

Suddenly the fire reached his eyes and they were burning, cracking with heat, the dry jelly exploding and dripping from the sockets. Energy fizzled through his veins, brethen of the blood there. His bones snapped where the energy willed it, reforming and elongating, cracking and being melded again and again until he was delirious with pain yet completely content.

For minutes he could see nothing, hear nothing, smell nothing, taste nothing. He could only feel the rush and calamity of sensation all throughout him. The uncomfortable sensation of wiry hairs pushing their way out from his skin all over his body caused him to shudder; that was something that he would never get used to nor enjoy.

And then all the pain evaporated, leaving behind only the mind of a wolf.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Caspian's pants came hard and fast. He was so thirsty that every time he swallowed, his dry throat flared as if dirty fingernails were carving patterns up and down it. He ran and ran, but he wasn't built for speed or agility, like Harry. His hulking body was for strength. He dodged around the thick tree trunks and crushed all vegetation in his path, which weaved around and around in infuriating circles. This further fuelled the panic drumming in his gut.

The frolicking werewolves all about him were carefree; they played, they fought, they mated, they lounged lazily on the last night of their transformation. When the sun rose, they would return to their human forms again.

Thousands of horrifying scenarios played through his mind, and all could be reality very easily. Harry: raped and left bleeding in a dark place where no one would find him before he bled to death. Harry: whimpering and running from a sadistic dominant who wanted nothing more than to torture him into insanity. Harry: lost and alone, wandering through the woods, completely terrified, thinking that Caspian had abandoned him on purpose in order to get rid of him for their father. Harry: dead and broken in a heap at the bottom of a dirty ditch. Harry: captured by the greedy and apathetic slave traders that roamed the land with their quick fingers.

So many horrid, heart-breaking possibilities... Where was Harry?

_______________________________________________________________________________

Harry was on a high. He trotted through the dark forest with awe and delight vibrating through his bones. This place was so beautiful! The forest was alive in a way that he had never recognised in his human form. He knew that with every step he took, he crushed millions of organisms under his soft paw. He knew that every breath that fed his body had at one time been a part of the trees around him in the most intimate of fashions, and in this way he felt connected to the trees. The trees that kept the ground rich and fertile; that blessed the land with water and growth; that stood as sentries guarding the soft, vulnerable creatures that lived with them: just skeletons with a mossy film stretched over the sharp bones, that tiny muscle twitching in that frantic beat in a vain attempt to prolong its own ephemeral existence.

He wondered at it all and delighted that he was a part of it, even for only three nights every month.

He could smell and see everything around him with such clarity and detail. The scent of each strain of fungus that carpeted the springy forest floor had its own unique edge that seemed to jump out at him. It was so obvious to him as he was now, but, he knew, when the morning came he would be lucky if fungus had a smell to him at all.

He trotted, leaped, sprung, sprinted, strolled, charged, and swung about the lightening forest with undiluted glee. He chased birds furiously. He toyed with mice idly. He investigated dark holes and nooks warily, but with a strange hope that he would find something that would give him a fleeting scare.

He did not worry about Caspian; they had become separated some time ago and he knew that they would find each other back at the Palace eventually. His wolven mind was at the forefront and his habitual human concerns meant little.

He was busy chasing a virulent young hare when a made a mistake.

His nose was low to the ground and his slightly clumsy paws were thumping an incredible tempo upon the moist ground as he strove to keep the speedy animal within his sight. He had no intention of killing it, but it was such a wonderful chase! His blood pumped loudly in his ears and his harsh, happy pants whooshed all about him. His tongue lolled from his mouth, wet and pink, and the murky scenery flashed past him. This was the fastest that he had ever ran in his entire life and it was the best, freest sensation he had ever experienced.

The bobbing tail disappeared around the thick circumference of a tree and he skidded to follow it. He gave an exuberant bark that he would have been embarrassed of if anyone else had heard it, and he relished the burning in his muscles. And then -- THUMP!

He collided head-first with a solid boulder two or three times his own size. He yelped and fell onto his side in a heap. That hurt.

He huffed through his nose heavily and let his paws twitch in annoyance: the hare would be long gone by now.

A steady thumping pain in his head slowly made itself known and he whined sadly. What a way to end his first transformation outside.

He considered getting up, but decided he was far too exhausted and sore. And by now the adrenaline had seeped from his system, so he lay there and listened to his heart slowing down.

Suddenly, there came a low rumble from above him. It might have been a growl, or perhaps a whine, but Harry couldn't tell by the deep, deep sound. Harry tensed and suddenly felt very exposed, lying on his side, soft belly vulnerable. A wet nose hesitantly nudged behind his ear and huffed in concern.

Harry opened a wary eye, frightened and intrigued at once. This wolf had a wonderful smell to them: a sweet musk that filled his head with a warm fog and sent shivers running up and down his spine.

A tight coil of terror bunched in his stomach as he came eye-to-eye with an icy blue iris. It was a lovely sky-blue on the outside and slowly paled into an almost white, maybe silver, lining around the inky pupil. It was a shocking, beautiful eye. But what scared him the ring of kohl-coloured fur around that piercing, earnest eye, set within a coarse sea of silver. Harry knew this wolf; everyone did. It was his Alpha.

For the first time in his life, Harry wanted to swear. He, an insignificant, annoying little submissive, had just careened head-first into the most important and violent werewolf in the land, possibly hurting him. And then, like a fool, he had lain there and whined like a selfish puppy when what he should have been doing was begging for forgiveness if not mercy. But he was too terrified, not to mention embarrassed, to move.

The beautiful eye blinked slowly and then backed off. Harry remained still on the ground. Oh god, what was going to happen?

A probing nose ran over his lightly shivering body slowly, sniffing and nudging. Despite the seemingly leisurely pace, Harry could sense the high tension in the solidly built body hovering near his. In reflex, he rolled onto his back with his paws hanging limply and bared his throat in the most submissive position he could muster, hoping against hope that he would be forgiven and released. But if punishment was delivered, then he would silently accept it. Oh, why had he wandered off on his own?!

He refused to look over his Alpha, although the urge was strangely intense, and certainly did not meet his gaze a second time; that would only exacerbate the situation. So instead he watched the trees meekly and felt the trembles plaguing his form increase in violence steadily as the large muzzle gently explored him.

The expected acceptance of his submission came, but it was very far from the harsh reprisal that every rumour and tale he had been told promised. Huge jaws, Harry whimpered at their near-ridiculous and lethal size, closed gently around his throat. The powerful jaws twitched in the tiniest of exertions and then removed themselves. Harry's eyes were wide. His throat was hot where his Alpha's breath had bathed it. That was not how it should go; only close family members reinforced the dominant-submissive hierarchy in such a peaceful manner. And not only that -- that had seemed strangely intimate. Harry remained confused and uncertain.

A silky muzzle carefully rubbed against his own in what Harry would have called a caress if it had not been the wolf that gave the attention. His body was tense in suspicion. The Alpha growled commandingly: the first act that Harry could associate with the man's reputation, and it was somewhat of a relief in comparison to the odd behaviour that he had previously displayed.

Harry understood with unusual clarity what his Alpha desired from him and turned his head to meet the wide-eyed gaze directed at him. The wolven eye curved in pleasure and massive white teeth were bared in a familiar greeting. Harry blinked and let a little hope bubble in his chest; perhaps this wasn't his Alpha at all? The wolf had not exerted any kind of authority over him nor administered any punishment. Yes, this was probably just a friendly dominant who seemed to be concerned for his health, rather than being irritated at being run into.

Slowly, his posture relaxed and he let his bushy tail wag just a little, still unsure of their situation and where he stood. The dominant noticed the change in the previously defensive and scared submissive and his tail wagged fiercely.

He backed off to a certain extent, encouraging him to rise, but remained unusually close to him. Harry righted himself and stood lightly next to the huge wolf, and glanced shyly up into the happy, angled face. The wintry eyes were alight and his long pink tongue lolled comically from between sable lips. Harry didn't really mind the close proximity: the enchanting scent of the masculine wolf was a pleasant drug.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Fenir couldn't believe it. He was in utter shock. He was in ecstasy.

This was wonderful. This was unexpected. This was the best damn thing that had ever happened to him!

He had found his mate! The words whirled through his head like a song. The most amazing wolf: shy, graceful, agile, sweet, uncertain, innocent, beautiful beyond belief or imagination. He was delicate-pawed, green-gazed, fine-boned. He had a velvet coat of the darkest night, and a caramel smooth voice that rose and fell in melodious whimpers and whines, yips and yelps.

Fenrir could not understand how a lumbering, cruel joke of a mate had been given such a ethereal submissive. To top it off, it seemed that his mate - his MATE! - was gloriously submissive in the extreme.

When he had reached maturity, the idea of a mate had been a heavy burden weighing upon his mind: someone else that he had to care for, provide for, another wolf dependant upon him. But now that he had finally met the one that he was destined for, he realised that this was every werewolf's purpose and only happiness - to belong to another.

It was shocking for him, this tumult of immediate emotions that had never belonged to him suddenly filling him up. He had always assumed that having a mate would just mean another submissive to fuck, but the second that that little ball of midnight ink had crashed into him, he knew with all his being that he would do anything for him.

Fenrir watched with a delight that had never graced his heart before as his new and only companion chased a leaf dancing between the trees, overly-large paws lopping in an erratic rhythm upon the forest floor. The most gratifying and heart warming thing was seeing the little black wolf slowly losing his undeserved fear of him: he would never hurt this wolf!

At first, he had watched Fenrir's desperate attempts at play with wide and frightened eyes, but had eventually participated. At first he had remained guarded, and Fenrir's heart had pounded a frantic beat in his wide chest as he struggled to earn his mate's approval. But after much whining, nipping, barking, and chasing of his own tail (if anyone ever found out he would kill them lest the rumour spread), the tiny wolf eventually thawed and joined in. They chased each other and ran together. They tormented the squirrels of the forest (though they caught none) and lay panting together in the dirt. The longer they spent together, the more it dawned on Fenrir: nothing, especially himself, was ever going to be the same again, and he was looking forward to that change.

_______________________________________________________________________________

AN: I have not had a chance to thank all you reviewers out there before now as I find this site's layout and requirements difficult to understand. This same difficulty on my part was the reason I removed the first chapter last year. Now, as you know, the story is back and going strong. I'd like to thank every reviewer personally, but unfortunately I simply do not have the time on my hands to do so. I am delighted that you seem to be enjoying the story for the most part so far. I will endeavour to maintain your interest.

In case this is of use to you, I have already posted this story up to chapter 17 on two other sites: forever fandom [dot] net and adult fan fiction [dot] net (just remove the spaces). If you are unable to access these sites, then you'll have to bear with me here. I have a very hectic lifestyle and an extremely demanding job that requires me to travel a fair bit and it is not unusual for me to be in an area where the Internet and computers in general are totally inaccessible for months at a time. In such periods it is up to you my dear readers to simply remain patient.

I don't take well to insults, tantrums, or demands. Remember that, whilst I truly adore reviews – which is my main reason for uploading this story onto this site and similar – I am putting this in the public through no obligation but through my own personal choice. Petulant reviews demanding longer chapters and faster updates will be ignored and only serve to disillusion me of sharing the story at all. Please, do not misunderstand me; asking for updates (and offering cookies ;P) is perfectly acceptable and usually feeds my ego. It is when people begin to dictate to me what they expect of me and this story that I lose patience. I usually refrain from the infantile practice of naming and shaming, but this particular review really got my goat:

"okay this has been nearly the longest time you've gone without updating-  
please update soon (will review more often if you come back with a longer  
chapter [10 words plus] and soon every day from tomorrow when not updated i  
expect 500 words to be added)."

Now, I may have mistaken the intent of this review (easily done; it can barely pass for English), but the general mood is clear. Please, PLEASE do not leave reviews in the same vein. They are exasperating and insulting in equal measures.

I hate that my first author's note to you generally lovely readers is so coloured by such moaning on my behalf, but there you go. Once I get started on something I find it impossible to stop. (You may have noticed.) However, in general I have been terribly spoiled by you all. I love reading your reviews. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, and please don't be a stranger! : )


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The air whipped past Harry's muzzle as they flew through the forest. He didn't know where this extraordinary energy had come from, but he was bursting with the urge to go faster faster faster and to leap leap leap. This was the best night of his life! Never before had he experienced such freedom as he had this night, first with his dear brother, then alone, and now with this wonderful werewolf at his side, thundering through the trees with him.

Their paws struck the earth in a strange rhythm when the two beats were sounded together, the noise leaping up into the canopy of the trees and startling the restless birds into flight. Harry's shorter strides created a snappy prestissimo and the behemoth-masquerading-as-a-wolf's created a pleasant animato.

Harry yipped in pleasure: no one - not even Caspian! - had ever played with him with such abandon. Always everyone crept around him like he was some leper; even his beloved Caspian thought him too delicate to be physical with. It wasn't fair, really! He may be submissive, and happy to be too, but he was also a boy -- and he wanted to play and to run and to laugh. He knew other male submissives were granted this, so why not he? And apparently the mischievous werewolf he had met (and rather liked) was of the same opinion.

They rounded a conifer with a particularly large circumference with their rippling sides pressed together familiarly. Harry enjoyed their contact as the dominant was very attractive. The dominant's pace slowed. Harry followed his lead and together they continued at a gentle trot, panting hard. The moon-silver wolf groaned throatily and slumped to the ground with his eyes closed. Harry stopped and stared.

He decided to investigate and gently nudged his companion with his nose. A beautiful eye cracked open wearily, shining with an exhausted pleasure. Harry cocked his head in question and whined a little, unable to help himself; he was never this vocal usually, but it was easy to communicate with this wolf who made him feel so relaxed. In response, the massive head was raised slightly and a long lick administered to the side of Harry's head. If a wolf could blush, Harry would have. The lovely dominant didn't realise that Harry thought him pleasing and wouldn't anticipate nor encourage the warm feeling that blossomed in Harry's heaving chest.

So, embarrassed, he huffed through his nose and limped tiredly over to the gnarled roots of a large tree and curled himself up in their twists and loops, eyes falling closed. A tickling sensation was bubbling in his belly. It was strange and inexplicable, and Harry wondered if he had eaten something rotten.

He breathed deeply and allowed the tension in his shoulders to seep away and the sensation subsided a little, but it remained with him the entire night and made his bad dreams even worse, resulting in a night of fitful rest.

Harry awoke cold and sore. At first he lay in his uncomfortable position, unmoving and very tired. But as the haze of sleep and exhaustion lifted slowly from his mind, the sounds of twittering birds and leaves rustling in the wind registered. His heart leapt into his throat and his eyes flew open in a panic as he reared to his feet. Where was he?!

After a few frantic sweeps of the area with his eyes, Harry's memory caught up with him and he realised where he was. He also remembered the strong dominant that had played with him the previous night. He blanched and felt sick. How could he have done that? How could he have just left Caspian? He would be worried! Wouldn't he…? Harry bit his lip and wrung his hands nervously as there were no clothes to pick and twist at. Nothing to hide behind either.

He spotted a lightly tanned mass not far from him, a sprawling city of a man. His limbs were long and frighteningly muscular, his abdomen bumpy with strength, his glittering silver mane a tangled mess obscuring his sleeping face.

Oh! How had he let himself do all those things? He didn't know this man! Why had he let himself gambol like a puppy and embarrass himself by lavishing such unwanted romantic attention on a stranger? The man would laugh when he awoke and found the delusional puppy that had thrown himself so carelessly at him the previous night still lingering, panting for his attention. He had to go! He couldn't stay! He would run back to the castle as quickly as he could and pray to the Mother Wolf that no one spied his pitiful physique as he ran past. He would find Caspian and beg to be forgiven. What foolish things he had done!

Fenrir awoke from his pleasant dreams of a green-eyed wolf that shook his head as he ran with a forceful start. He had no idea what had woken him when he had been so deep in slumber, but he had a twisting feeling in his gut. He raised himself and stretched languidly, enjoying the satisfying pops and cracks of his skeleton and hoped his mate would enjoy the view he presented.

Fenrir turned to the spot at the base of the tree where his mate had chosen to lie. He blinked. Oh. He had already risen. Perhaps he had gone to relieve himself? The odd feeling in his gut that Fenrir was becoming more and more certain was the cause of his waking increased in intensity and the muscles of his shoulders tensed. He couldn't smell his mate anywhere near, and if he was taking a piss then Fenrir would be able to smell him very clearly and without effort. He growled fiercely; had someone stolen his newly-found mate as he slept?! How dare they? He should have insisted that they sleep together that night, if only for safety's sake, but Fenrir had thought that his pack would know better than to attack a wolf that Fenrir had not and was so obviously in acceptance of; he would not fall asleep in the same clearing as just anyone! (He had lost his love of communal sleeping long ago as the initial surge of pack instincts that plagued newly-turned wolves had subsided.)

Unbridled rage flared deep within him: not only did his pack no longer fear him, if this incident was anything to go by, but also they had potentially harmed his mate! A new and foreign feeling fought for precedence in his mind. Concern? Terror?

He thought back to the shy and initially reserved wolf he had encountered, the slim build, the eyes filled with equal measures of fear, suspicion, and apology. His heart sank: he could be so easily broken.

His heart pounding fiercely in his head, he sprang from the small clearing and raced back to his palace. People were going to pay.

Harry cringed and cowered slightly under Paul's fierce gaze. They were all back in their room, and no one was happy.

"How could you!? We were so worried! ANYTHING could have happened! When Caspian came and found us I thought I was going to die! You stupid, stupid boy!"

Paul raised his hand and Harry closed his eyes. The blow when it came was enough to send him tumbling off the bed where he had been seated and into a heap on the floor. His cheek stung but he did not touch his wound, only lay there until Paul was finished with him and asked him to move.

Silence pervaded the room. Then, "How dare you?" Caspian's voice hissed into the thick air. Harry wanted to cry. He was sorry, he was so sorry. He couldn't believe he had done this to Caspian, the only one who loved him! Let the punishment come, he thought, I deserve it.

There was a resounding CRACK throughout the room and a sharp cry accompanied by Caspian's snarling. Harry's eyes widened and he tried to figure out what was happening. He couldn't understand though and his curiosity prevailed, so he lifted his head to watch what was happening.

Paul was on his hands and knees and seemed to be examining the floor. He looked shocked and angry. Richard was pressed against the door with a hand to his mouth, eyes wide and wary. And then there was Caspian. He stood above Paul with his hand in a fist. He was shaking all over and was baring his teeth in a feral snarl so vicious that it made Harry truly scared of his brother.

Caspian had attacked his brother! How…? Why?! Paul was his older brother!

Paul slowly raised himself to his feet and spat a glob of red, red blood onto the dusty floor. He levelled his sharp, murderous gaze upon Caspian, who returned it. Paul hissed through chipped teeth, "What are you thinking of, little brother?"

Caspian didn't answer, but roared at him and went to attack him again. Harry's heart leapt into his mouth, "No!" Caspian halted as if Harry had restrained him physically.

"Harry, what do you want me to do? He hurt you."

"Yes, b-but Caspian, that's my p-p-place, his place. He's your brother… You… you will be s-s-sad later if you hurt him."

Caspian seemed only more incensed by his words. He whirled to face him. "Your PLACE? His PLACE? No! Let me tell you something, Harry. It is no one's PLACE to hurt you! No one's!" He spat and glared at Paul once again. "My brother? Brother? Listen: he is YOUR brother too, Harry, but why is it okay for him to hit you but not okay for me, HIS brother to hit him? Hmmm? We are all brothers, all part of the same family, and yet there are different rules for all of us. But no! That is not true, is it? There are just different rules for HARRY! The SUBMISSIVE! We can hit those who are physically less able to deal with wounds than we are, Paul, but not those who can heal faster than human scientists can explain! How does that make sense? Tell me, Paul! You tell me!"

Paul stared. And stared. Then sighed and Harry thought that he could see a tear on his cheek.

His leg twitched violently as he walked over to where Harry still lay on the ground. He crouched and stared at the already-forming bruise on Harry's folded white leg, the spot where he had fallen. "I'm sorry. I have lived with my… our father for far too long." He lifted his head slowly, as if forcing himself, and looked into his face, observing his cheek. He gasped as he really looked at it. "I promise… I promise, little brother, I will never hurt you again. Please, I… I beg… I beg for your forgiveness." He stared helplessly into Harry's wide eyes.

Harry couldn't believe this. His dominant older brother... Caspian's words… Could things really be different for him? He thought back to the fun wolf who had treated him like someone… someone important, someone worth talking to. Yes, maybe things could be different.

He smiled but winced at the pain the action caused to flare in his cheek. Paul's face crumpled and his hand shot out to cup his other cheek. "I… I look forward t-to a b-b-better relationship with y-you, brother. Of c-c-course you are forgiven."

Paul's lips quivered and he bit down on it fiercely. Harry spotted a tear of blood welling under his sharp tooth. "Thank you, little one."

AN: Thank you everybody! Your reviews are much appreciated. 


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Sup? Thanks for all the reviews guys! You rock my socks! :3

Chapter 10

The Alpha sat on his throne with shoulders thrown back, his spine stiff, and his teeth bared menacingly. All of his most important subordinates were quivering before him, their sobriety snapping back into place after the previous nights' merriment. Fenrir gained some measure of pleasure from the sight and consoled himself with the fact that perhaps his pack did still fear him. And if they did, then there were some very foolish werewolves among them if they knew his cruelty and thought that it would not apply to them. Behind his back, where the others could not see, Fenrir hid his badly shaking hands and bit back the fear in his voice, instead saturating it with the uncontrollable anger he felt.

His packmates, they had said to him, "Perhaps he returned to the palace of his own accord? Perhaps he was cold, or hungry, and did not wish to wake you?" But Fenrir could see that they themselves did not believe this. His mate would have been ecstatic to find his own mate, Fenrir. Why would he have left without the one he had searched so long for? It was preposterous! Someone was to blame here, and he was going to weed them out, then _crush_ them.

He stamped his foot to emphasise his words. "If any of you know what is going on here, you must tell me! If I have to I will throw all of your families into the streets! Someone knows something!" He hardly ever raised his voice, he usually found saying little and saying it quietly was the best way to get people to listen to you. So when he shouted like this, people were terrified and shocked. Indeed, many of his seasoned soldiers jumped. He let his harsh words sink in and swept the room with his gaze, searching their faces for their reactions and a weakness. He found none.

He felt like screaming and crying and kicking his legs like a child in the throes of a tantrum. This wasn't how it was supposed to go! He had waited so long… and now his mate could be anywhere! He could be hurt, dying… His heart ached. What he yearned to do was to send out every single last werewolf in his private bodyguard to look for him, but he knew that he could not. If the kidnapper was alerted to a search then they would feel trapped, and people did the most terrible things when they felt trapped.

All he could do for now was intimidate the hell out of them all and hope someone cracked. He would take any he thought suspicious to the torture chamber as soon as he had doubts about them. It would be completely different if this had happened after the Mating Ceremony; the sweet boy would have been recognised as the Lakta and therefore the whole community would have banded together to do something about it. As it was, he was just another submissive and he couldn't expend anymore resources on searching for him than he would any other submissive, or else his own position may be challenged.

It was so frustrating! He sighed loudly and massaged the bridge of his nose wearily. His subordinates watched him, surprised, and despite their Alpha's current displeasure with them, they felt a little sorry for him and hoped that the submissive was found.

Harry allowed himself to be guided through the halls of the labyrinthine palace by a solid hand upon his small shoulder. He thought of mentioning to Caspian that his fingers were digging quite piercingly into his collarbone and would he stop it, but decided against it when he glanced up into his brother's tense face. As they walked by, people they passed stared rather searchingly into every submissive's face, looking for the one, and it was putting every chaperone on edge. Caspian growled rather loudly at a stout dominant not particularly taller then Harry who had actually stopped in his tracks to have a good peer, deciding that he had crossed the line.

Harry placed a cool, soothing hand upon Caspian's, wrapped it around a long, thick finger. He gave it a comforting squeeze. Caspian looked down sharply in surprise and pleasure and smiled beatifically and, forgetting his anger, they continued to the dining hall for their breakfast, leaving behind them a severely shaken dominant. Caspian addressed Richard cheerily, "Aren't we lucky to have such a thoughtful baby brother?" Richard smiled in a strained manner; he had not settled yet after the confrontation, and had not said very much at all. Harry got the feeling that he wished to go to Marylla, and he wondered if they were mates. If they were, Richard would tell them eventually.

They soon arrived at their destination: the dining hall. Everyone ate at separate times for breakfast and lunch so the hall was only ever a quarter full, unlike at dinner time when it was packed with hungry bodies. You had to check when your time was on a huge board on display in the entrance hall.

Caspian steered Harry into the hall and sat them down. Harry immediately felt eyes on him, and the strange lurching feeling in his gut from the previous night when he had run with the friendly dominant returned. Harry kept his eyes down and didn't reply when Richard asked what he would like to eat from the buffet. Richard shrugged and went off to the other end of the table where all the food was to collect some for them. Caspian shared a concerned glance with Paul, before seating himself next to Harry. He poured him some water from one of the many jugs littering the table and draped his corded arm protectively over his little brother's shoulder.

"What's up, Harry?"

Harry looked up briefly and attempted to smile. "I... I j-j-just feel... a b-b-b..." He ceased his attempts to articulate what the queasy, but not entirely unpleasant, sensation he was experiencing felt like, the one that made the hair on his arms stand on end and caused him to perch on the edge of his seat. It was so humiliating when he couldn't even finish a word. That was why he very often did not try to speak at all.

Richard joined them at the table and seated himself to Harry's left, setting a plate-full of generous helpings before Harry as he did so. Harry nervously murmured, "Thank you," and proceeded to pick at a wholemeal roll in an unconvincing display of normality.

Caspian was growing more and more alarmed. Harry seemed to be glancing at something sporadically and fervently. They passed the next ten or fifteen minutes in silence, all the while Harry's head was twitching up and down ever so slightly. Caspian attempted to spy what it was that had captured his baby brother's attention, but was unable to follow his shielded gaze.

Caspian suddenly had a weird prickling sensation all over his arms and legs; it felt like someone was watching him. He looked up to find the Alpha—the _Alpha!_—glaring daggers at him. The glowing-eyed Alpha was of giant stature, and, Caspian was ready to admit with no shame, was not really the sort of guy one felt comfortable being in the vicinity of. Especially when he seemed to be attempting to melt your face off with his gaze.

He whispered under his breath to Paul, who was on his right, "What is his problem? Why's he staring at me?"

Paul remained steadfastly focused upon the tablecloth as he muttered, "I think it's more Harry he's interested in than you. Take your arm off of him, for goodness sake, and avoid eye-contact."

Caspian frowned, very confused. Nonetheless, he slipped his arm from around Harry's hunched shoulders and instead poured himself some water and took a sip. Harry seemed to be shaking, and Caspian wondered if he had noticed the Alpha staring too and was frightened. The thought made Caspian mad, but then, perhaps it was best that Harry feared such a man; for his own safety at least. The Alpha was notorious for violence.

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It was the first time that he had seen their leader and he admitted in the security of his own mind that he was very attractive. He had a beautiful head of silver hair that fell in dusky waves to his broad shoulders, and his icy eyes seemed to shine out of his face. Strong, clear features were sculpted upon his visage and he had red lips the colour of blood. Harry stopped himself before he could contemplate the man's magnificent body, as he could feel the heat of arousal rise within him like a coil of smoke.

He had tried not to watch the Alpha too closely, as it was not appropriate that he should be attracted to a figure of such importance. Anyway, if the Alpha caught him looking and perceived his feelings, then, well, he would undoubtedly laugh in his face and most probably humiliate him. So, he stole only glances from under his eyelashes and his bangs, feeling quite secure behind their dark cape. He couldn't help fidgeting and could sense that he was upsetting the others whilst he squirmed in his seat and the odd feeling spreading throughout his body intensified.

That was when he was caught.

At first people did not notice, but eventually, conversations that had been in full-flow and full of laughter died one after another in an eerie domino effect. Very soon silence pervaded the room.

Harry gulped in fear. Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no! Alpha Greyback was staring at him—no, _glaring_ at him. Without trying to conceal it. His face was thunder and his eyes lightning. His lips were a thin line and his eyebrows came together in a furious scar upon his face. Harry wanted to crawl under the table and hide or run from the room in embarrassment. Why had he drawn such attention to himself? It was so _rude_ to stare! Such an idiot _idiot_ IDIOT!!!

This was not a man to mess with. What was going to happen…?

Slowly the Alpha rose. His hands were shaking with rage and his slow movements seemed forced. The gentle arcs of his artful body swept through the air like a blade. He made his way around the table and headed over to the group of terrified Potters, each tread of his foot upon the plush carpet obscenely loud in the still room.

All too soon the huge figure was looming above Harry. He had a terrible sense of déjà vu; this was all too reminiscent of countless encounters with his angry father. At this thought, he went beyond terrified and froze, unfeeling in his seat. A man with muscles such as Alpha Greyback's could do damage that he couldn't even imagine.

A heavy, heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and, despite its gentleness, Harry jumped visibly and his face crumpled in distress behind his swathes of hair.

"Come." A bass growl caressed his ear and was accompanied by hot breath. Harry did not think, but reacted. He stood up, his legs shaking and refused to look up. He didn't want Caspian to see him crying. The hand on his shoulder nudged him in the direction of the door and Harry, once again, allowed himself to be directed by a strong hand.


End file.
